Left Alone
by Ivan Inverse
Summary: A more grownup Amelia reflects on her bygone adventures... and the love that left her behind. Little does Amelia know that the turbulent life of a Saillune Royal is about to return for one last, flourishing encore.
1. Chapter 1: Moonlight Sonata

Pale moonlight streamed in from one of the many windows of a large room. Ornate tapestries decorated the white walls with baroque elegance, each wall nearly identical to the one across from it. Lush carpeting of blue covered the entire floor, the footprints of the room's occupant visible; they appeared in a slightly lighter shade than the rest of the flooring. From the ceiling hung a multitudinous array of lanterns, one large central chandelier taking precedence in the room.

Despite their numerous presence, the room was dimly lit. A brightly burning fireplace warded off the winter's biting freeze. Shadows from the various pieces of furniture danced in lively patterns on the opposite wall.

Among those lively shadows was the shadow of one who was, least to say, not so lively.

Gazing serenely out one of those tall windows, a flickering light of longing met with the moon's stolid glow in the girl's eyes.

Content with where she stood, the young girl looked off to the distance where mountains crest and horizons stretch. The moon did little but accentuate their baleful presence amidst the city's orderly arrangement. Her hands moved occasionally and as if guided by a subconscious instinct; she smoothed out the light lavender gown she wore. Her hair, short to her shoulders, flared out on its own, and a deep violet gleam shimmered from it where the light struck it.

_'What have I been doing all these years,'_ the young girl said to nobody in particular. She closed her sapphire eyes and reflected on her question to herself. Save the idle crackling of the wood in the fireplace, and the soft ticks of a clock, there was no other sound.

Amelia kept her placid air. Her adventuring days had long been at an end and she was beginning to feel the loneliness welling up inside of her.

Since the day Amelia lost her mother and sister, she had never really been around many people her age. The only person she truly had up until a point was her father. Daughter and father doted on each other, and they dwelt in each other, an unbreakable bond of mutual, unconditional love.

Then, after a period of years, she met a duo of adventurers that literally changed her outlook on life. At first, she was blinded and put up against them (being a believer of absolute justice and all). Realizing she'd been duped, she wound up following Lina Inverse and Gourry Gabriev from one misadventure to the next. Since then, she learned through experience that the world is not so simple as black and white, light and dark, good and evil.

That, though, had been almost six years ago. Amelia was now nineteen and rapidly approaching twenty. Nothing as dire as the last journey with the now-wed Lina and Gourry had happened since. A thought suddenly struck her. _'Very soon,'_ she pondered, _'I'll have to get married.'_

It was a lot to put on her weary mind. After her grandfather, Endorel,passed away two years ago, her father became King Philionel of Saillune. The second in line to the throne, Prince Christopher, fell ill and never woke up again. In the case of her father's passing, she would be the only heir to the throne. Her marriage was inevitable; it was just a matter of time. _She was the Crown Princess_.

The one she truly loved was lost among the boundless miles south. Zelgadis, the shamanic chimera, left the Continent when the group split up to go their own ways.

Lina continued her land-roving for years before settling down in Elmekia. Despite how much she, um, _loved_ her sister, it's a scientifically proven fact that siblings need space between them... seven hundred miles of it. So, she refrained from settling down in her homeland of Zefielia.

Gourry followed Lina as he had promised her to always do; resultingly, he returned to his homeland and they, Lina and himself, settled down to live a peaceful life.

... Old habits die hard, however, as the sword-and-sorceress duo still drop their home-boundedness for an adventure or two.

Seeing those two would be no problem at all... She'd simply have to take a carriage ride across the world she had come to know with her own eyes to see them. Alas, such a journey would be a month's undertaking. It's especially dangerous for royalty with all the freebooting brigands waiting at a roadside to slit a passers-by's neck for a few coins -- it would be no problem for the Hammer of Justice to take care of them. But with her father's new responsibilities, she couldn't have herself wandering off. Even Phil himself had knuckled down to his homebound duties. Like father like daughter.

Zelgadis wandered far south of the City of Four Shrines to search for a cure to his chimeric state. He longed to be completely human once again. Since their last journey together, Zelgadis had not been seen, not even by Lina or Gourry (whom she routinely writes letters to).

Amelia missed him terribly. She kept her other wristcuff if only to remind her of him -- she had given the matching band to Zelgadis, hoping that returning it to her would be a good excuse for him to be inSaillune once again.

For three years, he had not returned. The worst feeling comes from thinking that he will not return, that he has been lost to the fearful Demon Sea or to some other calamity. Her time with Lina had taught her many things. Perhaps the most prolific one was the lesson teaching her not to give up onher goals and dreams.

Amelia turned her wistful glance from the cold outside. Quietly, she sidled past a large table and sat in the large white couch that faced the very windows she stood at.

Zelgadis may have been austere and even cold at times, and his self-image is not the glowing one anybody would hope it to be. Not the least of his flaws would be his appearance, even though he was more concerned about it than the young princess ever was.

Laying her head against the back of the sofa, turning her body so that her back was against the armrest, she drew her lavendershawl about herself. Ameliaheld her eyes half-lidded for a minute before sleep began to weigh on them.

Finally, the weight of Amelia's eyelids became more than she could stay against. A pair of tears streaked her fair cheeks, and she let sweet slumber pull her into a warmer world.


	2. Chapter 2: Vagabond By the Wayside

Glittering Saillune. How long had it been since he's seen its majestic temples and stalwart palace walls? It seemed like almost a lifetime ago, for all the pain that wracked his body. The sight of the city filled him with hope -- hope that he was in time to warn _her_.

Everything went wrong. _Everything_. But determined to regain his humanity, Zelgadis lost sight of what humanity was. Then, gained a small understanding. Then, for the chance of being human again, threw it all away.

He had his flesh, his soft dark hair. He had his face, and his dark, round eyes. But for them he gave up his power -- his _strength_. And, he realized, his ability to do anything about what could happen next. Zelgadis' face was suddenly illuminated; in his wood of thoughts, he had unintentionally cast Lighting. Yes, he still had his magic, though it wasn't as devastating as even when he had first met Lina, the mutual friend which bonded them all.

There was a sudden, sharp sound in the air, as if the winds were forced apart with an unexpected blast of noise. Zelgadis' trained instincts shot adrenaline through his body, for the aura he felt was strong. And... familiar.

"Xelloss!" he whispered in a hushed voice. But a repliant voice came out of the still night air, an almost sing-song vocalization with sarcastic undertones to those who could listen close enough.

_"My goodness!"_ it exclaimed, _"I never dreamed that you would get this far on your own!"_

Zelgadis remained silent this time, sure that another slip of the tongue would betray his thoughts to the Mazoku he was certain was hanging about.

_"That was a terrible thing you did in the New World. And here I thought you had softened up and laid off that old, forlorn hope of 'humanity.'"_ The voice chuckled. Zelgadis growled, though it was far less intimidating coming from the enfeebled, human side of him.

_"What would you tell your dear princess if she found out...?"_

Zelgadis stared at the ground from his post against the tree as the words sunk in. His breaths began to come faster by sight in the winter air. The silence pervaded for a few seconds, and then the cheerful voice returned:

_"Exactly! That's exactly what you'd say!"_ it announced, elated at the least. _"Hahahahaha!"_

Zelgadis felt the presence vanish with the same snap of air that it appeared with. Zelgadis grabbed at the ground, tearing up the dewy grass. Bringing his form to rest on his haunches, he screamed furiously at the vanished voice:

"XELLOSS!"

---&---

Amelia exited her room with her most unceremonious cleric's garb. It wasn't the same one that she wore when she traveled the world, though -- it was slightly different and larger, for she had grown. The shoulders were bare, and the pink choker she used to wear had been replaced by a blue one. A blue lens-shaped ward brooched two purple straps to her tunic. The top seam was this fabric, and this color, as well. The base color was the same as her original: a creamy, off-white. Her trousers were more like tights now, but they were still cloth. Up and down the outer seams they were embroidered with runes in gold thread. Her boots were purple like the outlines of her outfit and appeared as simple slip-ons.

As her attendants swarmed her for the purpose of making sure that she was spotless, Amelia busied herself with fastening the cuff that she used to wear on her right wrist on her belt.

"Mr. Zelgadis," she murmured softly, unheard by the hubbub around her. She looked up in time to catch her elderly assistant approaching her, dressed in all the white fineries of a Saillune royal official. His hair, medium in length, framed a thin face that had seen its share of worries and joys, though more pains in recent months than anything else. He bore Amelia's mantle reverently and handed it to her, smiling paternally as he did.

"Thank you, Clawfell," she replied to the gesture, and accepted the mantle with a smile. Though she handled it, her attendants soon took it from her to apply it to Amelia. The mantle was as regal as one can imagine without it being over-the-top: it was a white like the snow-capped mountains among the horizons south of the city, and the inside was a dark violet that accentuated Amelia's bobbed hair perfectly. Between the two, though, Amelia was much more clerical in appearance than princess.

"What is Daddy doing today?" Amelia asked of Clawfell. He folded his hands behind his back and walked alongside Amelia as the attendants filtered away from the two.

"His Highness is meeting face-to-face with dignitaries from Ralteague and Lyzeille. I do not know the details of the meeting, but it seems to be involved with continuing the explorations of the New World."

"Ah..." Amelia replied flatly. Clawfell just continued to stare at her as if he was waiting for her to cry. But she didn't, not in the least. Instead Amelia gave him a cheery smile.

"I hope it goes well, then. I'm off!" she chirpped, and she almost skipped off without looking back. Clawfell watched her round the corner, shaking his head.

"Age and loneliness can change a person, can't they?"

---&---

Amelia watched the world slowly roll by from the window of her carriage. Leaning against the slight ridge of the carriage wall, Amelia's left knuckle somehow found its way into a home between her teeth. The carriage was quite safe, or so the guards accompanying it had told her. For the most part it was unmarked, so there was no sign of royalty save within. Amelia had arranged for this short trip out of nowhere, her reason being that "she needed some fresh air."

Not that she could go anywhere unattended anymore. Now she understood why her father escaped the confines of the palace so many times in the cover of night. He was a free spirit, in essence, but now he had "knuckled down" as the king himself put it.

About an hour after leaving the city's main gates, Amelia felt the carriage jolt to the left. The sudden movement caused the princess to slip her propped up arm and hit her head. Annoyed, Amelia shouted.

"Hey! What gives? This road isn't that narrow!"

One of the drivers replied to Amelia with a clear and repentant voice.

"Our apologies, Your Grace, but there is was a man in the way of our cart. We wouldn't want to trample him, now!"

Amelia cocked her head to a side. "A man on the road? Is he hurt!"

The escorts -- not just the drivers -- could sense what was coming. "Well, Your Grace, it's--"

"We can't leave an injured person on the road like that! It's wrong, immoral, mean and **unjust**! Stop the carriage!"

"But Your Gra--"

Amelia didn't bother arguing, for by this time she had already opened the carriage door. The guards pulled the horses to a stop only after Amelia levitated herself off the carriage. Fixing her mantle with a light "hmph," Amelia eyed the man that the carriage had just passed by. He was a curious fellow, clothed in all white garments. They were tattered, though, and frayed to an extreme where such clothing might as well be considered rags. Amelia noted his black hair and lightly tanned skin as she stepped over to his fallen form and kneeled.

She assessed his condition as the guards loomed over her, nervous that an ambush might befall them if they waited too long out in the open. After a moment of studying him, Amelia chanted softly until her hands gave off a white glow. She positioned herself comfortably so that she could heal the traveler of his exhaustion.

A minute passed and the fallen man stirred on his own. Amelia smiled and wrapped the spell up, stepping back to give him some room. The man ran his hand roughly against the road, clutching at the gravel. Amelia winced, knowing that it wasn't good for one's cuticles to do that.

"Um... Mister? Are you alright?" she asked with a sweet voice. The man stopped moving, a breath drawn in deeply by him at the sound of Amelia's voice. With his ragged hand, he pushed off the gravel to look at the princess that had spoken them.

"A-Amelia?"

It took Amelia an awkward, dumbfounded minute to place the voice, but when she did her mannerisms morphed immediately. She had to gasp first, almost in disbelief. But then she started placing his features: his face, his jawline, his eyes. And his voice -- "Mr. Zelgadis!"

She caught him before he fell back to the ground, almost getting dragged along with him.

"Do you know him?" one of the escorts asked.

"Get him into the carriage," Amelia commanded. She never knew.

She _couldn't_ have known.


	3. Chapter 3: The Meaning of Justice

The mystic infirmary adjoined to the Saillune Royal Palace was a busy place in recent months. But since Christopher's death, it had been silent for almost a year, accepting only soldiers that had hurt themselves in what anyone would consider stupid ways. A stubbed toe on an abandoned helmet, a gouged eye for dueling with long sticks as if they were swords (out of boredom), an array of bruises for falling off the outer walls, and broken bones for falling asleep on the staircase patrol were the most odd cases the infirmary has had. Now they had a more serious case to work on, someone who was a friend of the crown princess it seemed.

The infirmary itself was a large square room with a high ceiling and many beds filling its interior. The beds were all clean and spotless; one could imagine that such impeccable cleanliness is required in a medical facility. Zelgadis was the only occupant in the room, bare chested and pale with fever. His breathing was an issue of some concern, as it was extremely irregular and labored. Mysteriously, he had no physical contusions anywhere on his skin; no bruises, or cuts, or sores.

A shadow lurked in the doorway leading into the facility, modest and fraught with worry. Her bright gaze filled with concern, she focused on the lone figure in the single occupied cot.

_He has... a human body now,_ she observed, _but it's still him..._

"YIPE!" Amelia cried all of a sudden. Another feminine shadow that had pinched her in the lower back formed out of the dim hallway, a chastising look in her eyes.

"What are you doing here, Miss Amelia? It's not good for you to see _him_ in this state."

Amelia glanced up at the taller woman, flustered at her unannounced arrival. "Hmf. You know how it goes, Miss Sylphiel. You can't rest when one of your allies is in pain or need of assistance."

Sylphiel had changed little over the years. She maintained her spirit of true humanitarianism, and what better way to show it than to work as a healer for Saillune? If there was a difference in the Priestess from Sairaag, it was in her clothes; like most members of the Saillune Clerics, Sylphiel wore a white robe long to her ankles. An embroidered stole that went over her shoulders, slipped through a sash, and dangled at her knees was the only accessory in her outfit. Sylphiel, glancing over the top of a pile of hot towels that she carried in a basket, gave Amelia a maternal, sympathetic smile. "I know. I know. But you can't stick around here all day. You have a speech to give to the youth assembly at Saillune Academy tomorrow, and you have to rehearse."

Amelia's eyes widened, a look of someone that had been defeated with a move that had been either completely ignored or completely unforeseen. It was for this reason that Amelia hated chess, and perhaps why she hated mindgames even more.

"Gah!" she shouted, "I completely forgot!" Without replying to Sylphiel again, Amelia careened off down the hallway, tripping and stumbling over the length of her mantle as she went. Sylphiel watched Amelia scamper off with the same smile that she tried to carry with her at all times. Sylphiel was no stranger to tragedy, nor to disappointment. Sylphiel stood at the doorway where Amelia stood seconds before, and she began to zone out.

_"Sir Gourry,"_ she whispered to herself.

"I-is someone... th-there?" Zelgadis' voice intruded, shaky in spite of his efforts to keep it steady and controlled as all would remember it. Sylphiel dropped out of her daydreams like a hot coal out of someone's bare hands, and she hurried to deliver the heated rags to Zelgadis.

"S-Sylphiel?" he murmured.

"Yes, it's me, Lord Zelgadis," she replied placidly as she settled down in a stool beside his cot. Removing one of the cloths from the basket she carried, she applied it to his forehead and hoped that the steam and moisture of the herbs prepared for his treatment would seep into his skin, into his lungs, and help him heal. Zelgadis remained still as Sylphiel continued to practice the treatment methods that she had learned in the time that she had been in Saillune's service. Her grandfather, Mr. Gray, ran this facility with punctual perfection, and it was to her that the burden of keeping it up fell to after he retired. Now Sylphiel intended to do the same as her grandfather, if her daydreaming didn't get in the way.

"Ame-melia... I have to..."

"Miss Amelia has duties to attend to, Lord Zelgadis," she replied in an attempt to pacify him. "She is very concerned about you, so I'm sure that she will be back as soon as she possibly can."

Through a source that remained a mystery to even him past this day, Zelgadis summoned up the strength to get out of the bed and stumble halfway across the room.

"No! I have to tell Amelia or--!"

Sylphiel panicked and stood from the stool. The care she showed for what happened to the towels from then was diametrically opposed to when she was carrying them; the very dust in the air stayed away from them for fear of divine retribution. But now Sylphiel jogged over to Zelgadis' side, and she laid a delicate hand on his shoulders as he held himself off the ground on all fours.

"Please, Lord Zelgadis. Don't do this. You haven't responded at all to our magical healing. Exhausting yourself won't make Miss Amelia any happier, do you understand?" Though Sylphiel's voice was as soothing and caring as always, Zelgadis was not worried about making Amelia happy. It was about _keeping her safe_. And it frustrated him to no end that he could not get the warning out to her. If she knew... and she took precautions... then he could rest. Then he could... die.

---&---

A lone figure in gleaming white clothes traipsed out onto the auditorium's stage, approaching a solemn podium emblazened with the coat-of-arms of Saillune's Royal House. Upon reaching the podium, she pivoted 90 degrees on her foot to face the empty expanse of seats hidden by the darkness. Amelia lost herself in her thought, imagining herself as a burning beacon of justice in this dark sea of lost, wandering seekers of the light. Even as she stood calmly behind the podium, her blood surged through her veins with the burning zeal of Saillune, the roaring passion of _justice_.

"... **FRIENDS!**" she crowed in a commanding voice, the trademarked cry of an impassioned warrior of love and righteousness. Amelia spread her arms out to her sides, reaching up for one of the intense beams of light produced by the spots for effect.

That's as dramatic as it got. The next several words fell out of Amelia's memory, practically pushing out of her ears and scattering like bits of broken glass across the stage to hide away from her. Amelia switched her eyes left and right, as if she could see those words fleeing in panicked horror at some unforseen fate. She tried to recall them, opening her mouth again and declaring:

"... **_FRIENDS!_**" she hollered at the darkness. Something deep in the back of the auditorium toppled with a clattering crash, but other than the sound of a pail rolling down the aisles, it was as silent as the Desert of Destruction.

"... You have a wonderful start, Amelia. But..."

Amelia angled her head down with a crazed look in her eyes, focusing the emanator of the voice in her gaze. There stood Clawfell, adjusting his spectacles and holding a few parchments in his hands. One was rolled open, and it seemed that he was trying to follow along with what Amelia was supposedly rehearsing.

"This isn't going well, Amelia." Clawfell let the parchment roll itself up, and he approached her from the steps on one side of the stage. "Tell me, child -- is something bothering you?"

"Yes!" she shouted readily. "Something _is_ bothering me, Clawfell!" Clawfell tilted his head slightly, standing about six paces from Amelia as she gestured grandiosely with her hands.

"My Ally of Justice and good friend, Mr. Zelgadis, is **hurt** and I don't know what caused it! Why, I don't even know how bad it is! He has a fever, he is mumbling in a delirium, and no one will let me see him! _Why!_ Is there no _JUSTICE_ in my own home!"

Clawfell adjusted his spectacles, not taken aback by Amelia's rampage in the least. This is what he gets for first working with Philionel, and Gracia, and now Amelia. He knew their mannerisms by heart, and he also knew that sometimes he had to dispense a little common sense.

"Amelia, my child... 'Justice'... does not necessarily mean you get what you want." Clawfell paced for a few feet, explaining this thought so that Amelia could understand it. "I am not only sure, but certain, that your father, Philionel, would enjoy very much to spend every second of the day with you like in older times," he explained quietly with a few gestures. "But he knows that he cannot, because he is king and has duties to attend to."

At Clawfell's words, Amelia's gaze seemed to redden. It became shadowy, as if something other than Amelia had possessed her body. The air seemed to rumble with a thick wave of emotions, and then it dissipated as soon as it came. Amelia fell to her knees and sniffled lightly, a prelude to a good cry. Clawfell sensed something hurting in his heart, and he stepped over to Amelia with a comforting hand to place on her shoulder.

"Rest assured, Princess," Clawfell whispered to the woman-turned-girl sobbing into his robe, "your friend -- Zelgadis, was it? -- will get the best care of its kind here in Saillune. I promise. He will be better. There's no need to worry, my child. None at all..."

_She is much too young,_ Clawfell whispered in his thought, _for all this responsibility._


	4. Chapter 4: Denying Death His Due

The guards shifted anxiously around the doorway of the infirmary. While normally the hall leading into the infirmary only needed one sentry at a time, two at the most, today was special. The King himself was visiting the mysterious patient contained within. As it turns out, the two of them were acquaintances from six maybe seven years past. With the king's presence, nothing could be chanced.

Phil stood at the side of Zelgadis' bed, a towering monster of a man. His robes had changed little from when he was the crown prince; besides the tunic and stole, a mantle of white silk was added to the outfit. But, contrary to popular belief, there was no crown. Or, at least, not perpetually. The Crown of Saillune, while light in appearance, was much too heavy to be worn at all times without the wearer risking a sore neck or sprained shoulder muscles. Never one mind that it wouldn't happen to Phil, as his neck muscles alone could probably snap an oak in half. He simply did not like wearing the crown because he thought it was making him go bald.

Beside the king stood a much less intimidating figure in the person of Sylphiel. With a small leather notebook and various measurements made from perception and observation, Sylphiel recorded Zelgadis' condition with minute detail. Her face was serious and her expression was buried in thought as her pen flitted across the roughly hewn pages of the book.

In front of the previous two stood the heiress to the crown herself. Amelia knelt at the side of the bed that Zelgadis lay on. At Sylphiel's request, Amelia did not touch Zelgadis. Sylphiel was adamant in not ruling out that he had a mysterious disease, and the last person the kingdom needed to contract an exotic disease was the future of the kingdom itself. But seeing him in such terrible circumstances, Amelia could not shake the small voice in the back of her head that bade her do it.

A feeling of dread hung heavy in the air, despite the stabilization of Zelgadis' condition. The day that Amelia and her entourage had found him, Zelgadis was actually very near to death. His pulse was slow, his breathing was shallow, and his skin was clammy to the touch. But there must have been something more, enough to cause Sylphiel's expression to cloud over a few times. But Amelia did not see the darkness in Sylphiel's eyes; her sight instead clung to Zelgadis' form for the smallest sign of improvement.

Philionel gave Amelia a gentle, comforting pat on her back with an apish hand. His integrity as a father never left anyone with a lack of awe, for any man with hands like Phil's who could tune their power so finely as to make a comforting contact with his daughter was one to be commended. Amelia quietly raised a hand to meet her father's knuckles on her shoulder.

"... I don't want to watch anymore," Amelia finally said to Phil, her timid voice underscored with emotional exhaustion. Stoically, Phil extended his free hand in a dismissive signal to his host of guards. A chorus of chiming, clanking armor heralded the palace guard's exodus into the hallways of the palace proper as Phil and Amelia prepared to depart. Only stopping in her work to glance back at the princess and the king, Sylphiel received a few words from Phil as they left.

"Keep us alerted to Mr. Zelgadis' condition. And do everything you have to to keep him alive!" Even in the infirmary, Phil still had the tendency to lose control of his passion and let it manipulate his volume as it desired. Because of the silence in the infirmary, Amelia and Sylphiel winced at the loudness of Phil's voice. The guardsmen still within earshot didn't look back, fearful that the king was angry about something. But both of the ladies present knew better, and forgave him readily.

"I will do that, sire. He can receive no better care elsewhere." But the frustration of not being able to create results in Zelgadis were even getting to Sylphiel, who was normally a patient person who personified the virtues of compassion and placidity. For once, she was unsure about her faith in the techniques she employed on Zelgadis, and wondered idly in the back of her mind if there wasn't a place that could do better. For the rest of the night, she tortured herself with this idea, so as to take him there if such a place existed.

As the door clanked shut behind her, Sylphiel caught a few faint words out of Zelgadis' mouth.

_"They... are... are... coming..."_

---&---

The next day came too soon for Amelia. It was another sleepless night, and she realized that she was only going to look awful at the presentation she had to give today. Realizing that she was running short on time, Amelia ran to her armoire and hastily chose a dress. She didn't have time to be picky or choosy as she usually was; should she wear the periwinkle dress or the light blue dress?

After finally choosing a piece of formalwear, Amelia headed to her mirror. She looked idly at the small box of cosmetics that she held in her hands and puzzled over what to do with them. Normally, she didn't bother with things like makeup because she almost always looked presentable; she was a true natural beauty. But as Amelia looked in the mirror, she couldn't keep her eyes in place; they gravitated towards the dark semi-circles under her tired sapphires.

After the debate finally came to a conclusion, Amelia let fly out her chamber door. She couldn't run at a full dash because of the long dress she wore, and she mumbled indignantly as she found her feet trying to take her away like in older days. The largest concern on her mind was Zelgadis, but he would have to take a backseat to the speech she had to give out at the academy. The guilt of it clawed at her, but she shook it off as the mantle was forcibly buckled around her collar.

"Okay!" Amelia panted between breaths. "You can," pause, "go now!"

Amelia's attendant army stopped and faded off into the distance behind her, the top of their collective heads visible as they all bowed and retreated.

Clawfell waited at the exit. He was clearly anxious, glancing now and then to the ornate metal clock that stood in the center of the courtyard. A carriage, much livelier in décor than the one Amelia had been riding in when she reunited with Zelgadis, awaited her presence with a spotless shine.

"Amelia! Hurry and get on the carriage!" Clawfell urged her. Amelia looked up from her half-bent posture and whined, bringing forth the energy to climb aboard the relatively high step, then into the carriage itself at end. Clawfell followed suit, jumping in and shutting the door. At the clap of wood-on-wood, the carriage bucked forward as the driver whipped the horses onward at a brisk canter.

In the plush velvet seats, Amelia reclined and let out a heavy sigh. It wasn't long before that big exhalation was replaced by a gasping intake of fresh air. Clawfell shook his head with another one of his fatherly smiles on his face.

"We'll be on time." He nodded to reassure her. "The academy isn't far from here. You can relax now."

Amelia smiled with relief. But then something tickled her senses, a feeling of unsettling tension.

I hope it's just my makeup that's causing this sensation…

---&---

Zelgadis continued to endure the pain that tore at his body. It had gotten worse overnight, to the point where he was on the verge of exploding into agonized screams.

_The cure,_ he managed in a thought, _is almost worse than the ailment._

Disturbingly, Zelgadis did not know just how close to the truth he was. Over the years, parts of his chimerical body became natural. As old cells died, new ones grew in place and bonded with his human cells. Zelgadis became acclimated to his new body before he knew it, and when the cure presented itself to him, he did not take into account what could happen if two-thirds of his physical being were suddenly ripped out of him.

Quite literally…

"… The patient is missing two-thirds of his body." Sylphiel's voice conferred with another in the hallway just outside of the infirmary. The man who stood alongside Sylphiel, explaining the phenomenon, nodded as Sylphiel echoed his words.

"That is correct," he reinforced with a nod. "Honestly, it is a miracle that he even survived whatever process brought him to this state."

_A miracle…_ Sylphiel's thoughts wandered.

"Since he survived initially," the physician continued as he closed his book of tables and charts, "I don't think his death is a concern anymore. Keep with the regiment he's on and give him magical therapy. It will take more than a single Resurrection spell, but I'm sure that is no problem for you, Miss Sylphiel."

"Not at all," she affirmed quietly. Sylphiel eyed Zelgadis from the entryway, turning to the physician as a question occurred to her.

"How long will his recovery take?"

The physician scratched his chin, furrowing a brow as he made an estimate. "Heh. I've never seen a case like this where anyone has _lived_ through the first night. I would say a week… but the man has a purpose for living. Otherwise… I don't know. Perhaps the gods have a use for him yet."

_Perhaps they do,_ Sylphiel pondered quietly.

"Well," the physician began with a drawl. "I should leave you to your work now."

"Very well. Thank you for coming." Sylphiel bowed politely. The physician returned the gesture and took a step back, turning as he retreated.

"Good luck with your patient, Miss Sylphiel." And he was gone, Sylphiel once again being left to her devices, to her thoughts. She was quick to move back to Zelgadis' bedside. Sylphiel was eager to heal Zelgadis; removing her gloves, Sylphiel began to chant in a deeper, more forceful voice than she used to talk with. The radiance that encompassed the priestess' hands was almost as bright as the sun, but it was also as warm as the sun. Sylphiel enacted the next part of the spell, bringing it to completion with the prayer-like incantation.

"Resurrection…"

Zelgadis would survive, thanks in no small part to Sylphiel.


End file.
